


Your Scars Make You Beautiful

by WildFire35



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angry Dean Winchester, Anorexia, Broken Sam Winchester, Depression, Eating Disorders, Emotionally Hurt Sam, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Hurt Sam Winchester, M/M, Protective Dean Winchester, Sam Angst, Sam Has Self-Esteem Issues, Sam Has Self-Worth Issues, Sam Has an Eating Disorder, Sam Winchester Angst, Sam-Centric, Scars, Self-Harm, Self-Harming Sam Winchester, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Sam, Suicidal Sam Winchester, Suicidal Thoughts, Supportive Dean Winchester, Sweet Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-11-02
Packaged: 2018-11-14 18:03:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11213340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildFire35/pseuds/WildFire35
Summary: Sam has anorexia. It started with him skipping lunch, but his not eating has become more. It's the only way he can protect Dean. Sam struggles with self hate at his bony body, and ends up cutting himself as he tips closer to falling off the edge. The question is, will Dean be able to catch Sam before he shatters?Warning: this work contains anorexia and self harm. If this is a problem for you, please do not read it!If you are going to hurt yourself, call: 1-800-273-8255





	1. For Dean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! I'm sorry for writing another long, chaptered work. I'm going to try to put out some one-shots soon. Anyway, this fic. is based off of the song, "Scars (to your beautiful)", so listen to it if you haven't yet!
> 
> If you're still reading this, thanks I guess? I hope you enjoy this one! Buckle up ladies and gents because here we go!

* * *

Sam stared in the mirror, scrutinizing his body. He pinched folds of skin on his stomach and thighs, hating the bony, angular shape of his body.

 _Why can't I be beautiful, like Dean_ , Sam thought. He pictured Dean's tight muscles and fit physique. And then he looked in the mirror at his own skeletal figure, feeling tears prick his eyes as he saw every mistake on himself. He hated his large, flat forehead. His ears that stuck out too far. His teeth that weren't quite straight. But most of all, he hated his bulging stomach and scarecrow arms. The hollowness in his cheeks. Sam's reflection blurred as tears distorted his vision, and he angrily scrubbed his ugly eyes with the back of his hand. Why did his stupid, ugly eyes have to be a muddy brown? Why couldn't they be a bright, beautiful color, like blue? Or green. Green like soft grass and lush forests. Green like warm plaid shirts. Green like Dean.

Sam choked back a sob. He knew he wasn't fat, but he couldn't get himself to eat. What was a little bit of hunger? Every meal he skipped helped ease the family budget, just a little bit.

Once again, Sam glanced mournfully into the mirror, watching as his distrorted reflection showed how ugly he truly was. As he stared at his monstrous face, steam from the scalding shower started obscuring the mirror, blocking the horror that Sam was seeing. Finally, he walked over to the shower and climbed in, pulling the curtain closed behind him, glad that it blocked his view of the horrid mirror.

He hissed at the pain, loving the feeling of the scalding water running down his skin, as if it could burn away all of the yellow, gummy fat inside of himself. Sam imagined the yellow goop dripping out of his body and down the drain. But when he opened his eyes, he was still greeted by the sight of his bloated belly. Frustrated, Sam scratched his fingers down his torso, leaving red marks where his taloned fingers had clawed down  the barren, pale desert of his skin. He reveled in the pain, loving the angry red slashes left behind, watching as a drop of blood fell from one of the cuts. Finally, he shut off the water and stepped out of the shower, wrapping himself in a towel.

It hadn't started this way. Sam had just skipped lunch one day when there wasn't enough money. It was no big deal. But soon, he grew to love the feeling of his empty stomach, craving the hunger, because it meant he was helping the family. Dean was always protecting Sam, but this was the one way he could protect Dean.

Sam was careful to dry off completely and cover all of his skin before leaving the bathroom. Unlike Dean with his chiseled chest and sculpted stomach, Sam couldn't walk around the house in just a towel. Dean would notice the weight Sam had lost. And then he would get worried, which would destroy the point of Sam protecting him. No, Dean had to be blocked from finding out, no matter what. As he walked back to his room to retrieve a latin book on werewolves he was trying to translate, he ran into the source of many of his recent thoughts who had just come in from fixing the Impala.

 "Hey Sammy", Dean said, ruffling his brother's wet hair.

"Hey Dean. Is the car doin' alright?", Sam asked, preoccupied by the rumble in his empty stomach.

"She's going to be great by the time I'm through with her. She'll be purring like Sarah was last night", Dean said with a wink. Sam smiled at him, vaguely remembering the blonde bimbo Dean had brought home last night. Had her name been Sarah? He couldn't remember. It was getting harder to remember anything when all he could think about was how empty his stomach was.

"Sammy?"

"Mmmm?", Sam replied, searching for the book on the motel's cheap dresser that was in their room. Where had he left the darn thing?

"What'cha lookin' for?", Dean asked, moving behind his brother. Sam straightened up quickly, hoping Dean hadn't seen the part of his back that had been exposed when his shirt had ridden up.

"The latin werewolf book I was translating yesterday. I can't find it", Sam said, doing his best to not look guilty. Dean looked at Sam for a second, before reaching down and grabbing it off of the dresser Sam had been searching.

"It's right here", he said, his voice laced with worry and concern.

"Stupid me. Hidden right in plain sight", Sam replied, laughing nervously. As he moved to leave the room, he felt Dean try to grab his wrist. Sam quickly twisted his body, not letting Dean feel his emaciated arm.

"Yeah?" he asked, his voice and shoulders tense.

"I said, isn't it a little hot to be wearing a sweatshirt?", Dean asked as his eyes swept over his heavily clothed brother.

"I'm just cold", Sam replied, which wasn't a lie. He was always cold. Even though it was in the upper nineties today, he was still shivering.

"Okay", Dean said with doubt, watching his brother leave.

Sam sighed in relief as he turned the corner. Dean hadn't seen. It was getting harder and harder every day to keep Dean from finding out about his habit. Why, last week he had been only seconds away from seeing Sam shirtless. Sam pushed Dean out of his mind as he went to work on his translation. He liked the work. It distracted him from the gnawing void that was his stomach.

Dean watched in concern as Sam left. Something was up with the kid, he just couldn't quite figure out what.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll try to update this soon. As always, please leave a kudo and a comment, and I would love it if you would check out my other work! Until our paths cross again, take care of yourself (and check back for updates!)
> 
> -WildFire35


	2. Tired

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, long time no see! Here's chapter 2 (finally). Chapters 3 and 4 are cooking, so get ready for more updates! As always, let me know how I'm doing, and more than anything, enjoy!

_Oh, God that salad looks good._ Sam stared at the bowl of lettuce as the lady at the counter delicately picked out another crisp, green leaf, before placing it in her mouth.

 _Oh, God that rabbit food looks disgusting._ Dean stared in horror as the woman at the counter picked up another limp excuse for lettuce and shoved it in her mouth. Cheap dressing pooled in the bottom of the bowl, as well as directly beneath her lip. Shaking his head, he turned back to Sam, who was hungrily staring at the cheap truck stop cuisine. When the waitress stopped by again, Dean pounced, taking the opportunity to order for both of them.

"I'll have a house burger with fries and a Dr. Pepper, and he'll have the salad, with water", Dean said, giving her his menu and a wink.

"Actually, just the water for me. I'm not hungry", Sam said, giving the woman a small, apologetic smile as he handed back his menu. As she waltzed away, Dean was too distracted by Sam to admire her retreating  assets.

"What the hell Sam? You didn't eat breakfast or lunch either today", Dean ranted, staring down his brother. Sam shrugged, not offering an explanation.

"Sam", Dean growled as his mind screamed out all forms of trouble, "tell me what's going on". Sam looked down at his lap in silence. Dean was about to ask again when the waitress showed up with their drinks. Her pleasant babbling filled the empty space, and after she left, Sam was too busy stirring his water and taking tiny sips to answer the question. Dean contemplated Sam, noticing how pale he was, and the way that the hollows under his eyes seemed too big. Even his skin looked bad, thin and opaque like that of an older person.

"Are you feeling okay, Sammy?", Dean asked in concern as thoughts of illness flitted through his head.

"I'm feeling fine, Dean", Sam said, staring at his glass instead of his brother. As he was about to probe further, Dean hesitated, deciding that the best course of action was to question Sam back at the motel instead of making a scene here.

"Excuse me darlin', could we get our meals to go?", Dean asked the waitress.

"Of course", she replied, bending over their table slowly to grab a straw wrapper. She made sure to brush against Dean, making sure he saw everything. Straightening back up, she turned to him.

"Anything else I can get ya?", she asked, batting her eyes.

"The food's fine. Thanks", Dean replied with a smile. She walked off and returned with their bag of food a few minutes later.

"That will be $11.20", she said, her previously seductive attitude replaced by a grumpy one. Dean ignored her and paid their bill, before following Sam out to the Impala.

They sat in silence for the drive home, Dean not even bothering to play his favorite Asia record which was in the CD player. By the time they entered the motel room, Sam was ready for Dean's attack. 

"Sammy, are you getting sick?", he asked first.

"No, Dean", Sam replied, as shivers once again racked his body. He grabbed his sweatshirt tight around himself, riding out the cold wave. In truth, he was sick. Just not the type of illness Dean was thinking of.

"Jesus, Sammy. It's the middle of August. We're running the friggin' heat, and you're still wearing a sweatshirt? And shivering? I mean, I'm practically melting over here", Dean paused to run his hands through his sweaty hair and fan out his shirt. Beads of sweat dripped down his face and hung on to his neck. Taking a calming deep breath, he continued.

"Just tell me what's wrong, Sammy", Dean implored, his green eyes searching his brother's caramel ones.

"Nothing, Dean. I'm just not hungry. Is that suddenly a crime?", Sam asked, anger tinging his voice. Immediately he regretted the outburst as he watched Dean's face cloud over in anger and hurt.

"Fine, Sammy. Don't tell me what's up", Dean snapped, before walking away. Sam closed his eyes as sadness washed over him. He was doing this to help Dean, to protect him. But in the end, all he was doing was hurting him, like always. As Sam stood there, he started swaying back and forth, having trouble keeping his balance. His eyes snapped open and his vision was clouded over by sparkling white spots. The world seemed to tip backwards and forwards and every which way, and it took all of his effort to stay upright. 

By the time his balance had returned, Sam was exhausted. He was hungry and sad too, but mainly tired. He moved to the bedroom, and fell on the single bed, lacking the energy to even take his shoes off.The fight was leaving him, and to be honest, Sam was glad.


	3. Monster in the Mirror

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait everyone. I just wanted to say that the support on this piece has been overwhelming. Thank you for all the love and kindness and support, it means the world to me! I hope you like this chapter, and I hope to see you soon on my other works. Thank you!
> 
> WARNING: this chapter contains graphic depictions of self harm. DO NOT READ if this will trigger you! Please! I care about you, and don't want you hurt. If you are considering or engaining in self harm, get professional help immediately. This is a serious issue that concerns your safety, so take care!

Sam stood in the tiled bathroom, staring at the scale on the floor.

98 pounds. 98 failures. There were 98 things wrong with him, each problem as bloated as himself. Sam shook his head and looked up, disgusted. He caught his eye in the mirror, glaring at his enemy: himself.

"You let Dean down", his reflection whispered. Sam's jaw shook as the statement sliced through him.

"No", he whispered.

"You're a failure". Sam's head jerked to the right, staring at the small medicine cabinet mirror. A cruel smirk adorned his reflection.

"No", Sam whispered again, tears welling in his eyes.

"Dean would be better off without you". Sam whirled around to see his distorted reflection in the shower faucet.

"No", Sam gasped, tears dripping down his face. He reached behind him, blindly grabbing the pocket knife in his pants.

"How could he love an akward, ugly little brother like you?". Tears streamed down Sam's cheek as he looked back at the large mirror again. He could feel the accusatory looks of the rest of his reflections, their words swirling through his head.

All of the pain and sorrow and guilt built up in him, threatening to spill out.

"No, no no no", Sam whispered, bracing his hands against the sink, his chest heaving. His head suddenly filled with silence, Sam slowly raised his head up to look in the mirror again.

"You know the punishment", his reflection whispered. And Sam did. He flicked open the pocket knife in his right hand, which shook as he moved it toward his left wrist.

"Do it", medicine cabinet Sam whispered.

"Do it", shower faucet Sam whispered.

"Do it", mirror Sam commanded. Taking a shuddering deep breath, Sam raised the knife and slashed. A moment of hot pain shot through him, before being replaced with pleasure as crimson blood started flowing out of the gash.

Sam gasped and closed his eyes as the pleasure pain ran through him. He gripped the knife tighter, the handle biting into his palm until his shaking knuckles were white. Looking in the mirror again, he slashed once, twice, a third time before he was content to watch the thick blood drip down his stick-thin arm. Sam grabbed the bottle of peroxide and pulled the cap off with his teeth before dousing his fresh cuts with the disinfectant. 

The bubbling pink liquid looked beautiful as it frothed and washed over the wounds. He groaned at the sharp bite of the alcohol, the clean smell wafting up to assault his nose. Finally, he dried off his arm, and looked into the mirror again. 

He looked a little better, he decided. The marks on his painfully thin wrist were beautiful. Beautiful in a way the rest of him could never be. Sam smiled, before worry creased his face again.

Hiding this from Dean would be difficult. His baggy sweatshirts that helped him hide his lack of eating would have to serve double duty.The only problen was how suspicious Dean already was. Sam pulled his sleeves down, deciding to let fate run its course. He was careful to stick the knife back in his pocket before he left the bathroom. As he passed Dean in the hall, he smiled, and Dean smiled back. Dean was just happy to see Sam out of his funk. Sam, however, was celebrating. Because for the first time in months, part of him was pretty. That was a start.


	4. Suspicions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, I'm back! This chapter is mostly plot, but next chapter has an insane amount of feels, so be ready! I can't thank everyone enough for all the support I've gotten on this piece, but I can try, so thank you thank you thank you THANK YOU!
> 
> As always, stay safe, and give yourself a little love for me!

"Good job, Sammy", Dean said, tussling his brother's hair. The two collapsed into the Impala, breathing heavily. Dean drove them back to the small motel, humming along to the radio.

"That was a nasty Wendigo", he commented, turning to his brother. Sam nodded sleepily. He had absolutely no energy. He was short on both calories and sleep, and there was only 1 he could fix. Sam leaned on the window of the car, cushioning his head with his arm.

When Dean next looked over, he noticed some dry blood on the edge of Sam's sleeve. Concerned, he reached over and tapped his brother awake.

"You okay, Sam?", he asked. 

"Yeah, why?", Sam replied confused, his voice thick.

"There's some blood on your sleeve", Dean said, trying to get a closer look and still keep the car on the road.

"It's nothing", Sam replied quickly, tucking his arm into his lap.

"I'll patch it up when we get back", Dean commented as they approached the shady motel they were currently set up in.

"Really,it's fine", Sam said. Dean turned off the radio, letting silence fill the car.

"Sammy-"

"It's Sam. And I'm perfectly fine. It's just a scratch", Sam said. Dean frowned.

"Fine. I'll just leave it be", he muttered. As Sam turned and stared out the window, Dean brooded on his odd behaviour. Lately, Sam had been withdrawn, in every way possible. He had always been shy about his body, but he wouldn't even walk around the house without a shirt on now. And while in the past the two had teased and shoved, they had always sat together on the couch when they watched TV at night. Recently, Sam had sat as far away from Dean as possible. Was he the issue? Did Sam not want to be around him anymore? Even considering that put a lump in Dean's throat. He willed himself to push that thought away until more investigation was done.

They reached the motel and walked in, before Sam locked himself in the bedroom. When he came out twenty minutes later, he was still wearing the grimy Stanford sweatshirt he had been wearing nonstop for weeks.

"Here, give me the sweatshirt, Sammy. I'll go wash it while you take a shower", Dean offered.

"I can wash it later", Sam said. 

"Really, Sam. That thing could stand on its own", Dean said with a smirk. But when Sam's signature eye-roll didn't follow, he started to get worried.

"Everything okay?", Dean asked, his previous suspicions returning as he looked at the large purple-blue bags under his brother's eyes. Every internal alarm seemed to be screeching at him that something was wrong.

"Sam", Dean growled, taking a step forward when he didn't reply. Sam shrunk back, worry creasing his face. That was all it took for Dean to sprint forward and reach for his brother. He latched onto Sam's arm, before freezing in shock.

His hand had gone entirely around Sam's arm with plenty of room to spare. The sweatshirt sleeve seemed nearly empty.

"Let go", Sam yelled, wrenching his arm out of Dean's grasp before turning and trying to run. He took a few steps, before the world started spinning and he was forced to lean against the wall. Before he could stop it, the world flipped, and he fell backwards into blackness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay safe my friends! If you want to talk, I'm always open! My e-mail is: wildfirewriter35@gmail.com


End file.
